


Hurry Boy, It's Waiting There For You

by tameimpala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Episode: s15e16 Drag Me Away (From You), Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Nightmares, Pre-Series, Season/Series 15, Underage Drinking, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:00:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27253822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tameimpala/pseuds/tameimpala
Summary: On paper, he was a hero. But in reality, his reflection was just a scared little boy. Is this how heroes are meant to feel? Hollowed out and terrified, racked with doubt over whether the monsters they'd slain were truly gone? Wondering if they’d failed?Following the events in Wadsworth, Dean suffers through the beginning of his nightmares about what he saw there and decides to reach for something to take the edge off.Pre-series. Set after the flashbacks in S15e16 Drag Me Away (From You)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	Hurry Boy, It's Waiting There For You

* * * * *

  


**January,1993**  
******Champaign, Illinois**  


Half running, half sprinting, Dean flew across the parking lot to the phone booth he’d spotted as soon as the Impala had rolled up to their new lodgings. He didn't even register the name of the motel. Why should he? His thoughts were still firmly fixated on The Rooster's Sunrise and everything that had transpired there. His father might have put some distance between them and Wadsworth, Ohio, but the place would take some forgetting. 

The 13-year-old reached the small grimy phone booth, threw himself at the door, and clambered inside. He didn’t have much time. Dean had volunteered to get snacks from the vending machine and he figured he had about five more minutes before his dad and brother started to wonder where he’d got to. 

He picked up the receiver and ignored the slight tremor in his hand. The cold plastic bit at his ear and the dial tone screamed against it. Dean’s mouth was dry. The teenager hadn’t phoned anything in before, he’d been taught all his life that the police were of no help to him- either due to the high level of illegal activity they were involved in or simply because officers were completely ignorant to the existence of monsters and were therefore obstacles to avoid on a hunt. Now here he was, about to call 911. He wished he had the number for the tip line featured on those haunting missing posters. He didn’t even know if his information would even reach Wadsworth. 

Fingers hovered above the digits, frozen, but a loud passing car that roared past on the road in front drew him out of his stupor. 

He dialled the number and suddenly an operator was speaking into his ear. 

“911 what’s your emergency?” 

“Wadsworth Cannery, Ohio.” Dean said quickly, his eyes pressed closed as if he was trying not to imagine the place he was describing, “The missing kids in Wadsworth, I saw the bodies. I saw them there.” 

“Sir, sir are you-” 

“Please find them.” He said desperately before hanging up. 

He slumped against the frame of the phone booth and finally let out a breath. Dean waited for the weight to leave him and the relief to set in, but he soon realised after a beat that he felt no different. The awful sight of that nest, full of stolen keepsakes and rotting bodies, was still burned into his skull. All he’d done was passed on that horror to whoever they sent to respond to his anonymous tip. If they even sent anybody that is. 

Through the clouded Perspex of the phone booth he could see their new motel room. The curtain twitched a little, Sam’s face appeared then retreated through the crack. Dean waited until they stilled before heading out into the biting cold January air. It was dark out and the streetlight’s orange glow reflected in the damp asphalt. beneath his feet. He quickly ran back through the parking lot, dodging cars, and straight into the lobby. The bored looking guy behind the desk barely even looked up from his book. 

Dean collected himself, tried to not sound like he’d just ran here, and headed over to the vending machines in the corner. Just as he approached them however, the doors opened again and in stepped Sam. 

“What’s taking you so long?” The 9-year-old asked in a hushed tone. 

“Just had to take a leak Sammy.” Dean answered in a faux happy-go-lucky voice, turning his attention to choosing from the slim selection of snacks. Even though the clerk hadn’t really noticed his or Sam’s arrival, he still didn’t want to use his vendor trick right in front of him. Besides, he had change for once thanks to Dad. 

Sam studied his brother, his hands crossed across his chest. He obviously didn’t buy Dean’s explanation but he didn’t argue. Dean was at least grateful for small mercies. 

The vending machine whirred to life and Dean bent down to retrieve his food. He knew that both himself and Sam were thinking the same thing as Dean’s hand reached inside the bottom shelf. Travis’s story of how he’d first seen the witch was going to stick with them both for a long time. 

Dean, unlike Travis, safely retrieved the chips and threw them over towards his brother. Sam caught them but stared down at them with a strange look. 

“What’s up? Funyuns not your favorite anymore?” Dean asked, his lips quirked a smile, “Or you want _Herr’s?_ ” 

“Shut up.” Muttered his brother but the boy still looked concerned. Dean just shrugged and went back to selecting another snack. 

“Hey Dean?” Sam asked as Dean loaded coins into the machine. 

“Yeah?” 

“You think Travis and Caitlin will be okay?” 

“That thing is gone Sam, they’ll be fine.” 

“I meant like, now that they _know?_ ” Asked Sam, meaning now that they had been burdened with the truth of what’s really out there. Dean let out a small sigh in response. 

“I don’t think they’ll be going out on any hunts again if that’s what you mean. Besides, Travis is the same age you were when you found out about monsters.” 

“I know that.” There was a look in Sam’s eyes, a look that said _I know that and I know how messed up it can make you, that’s why I’m asking._

Dean didn’t want give him the cynical reply that they’d be fine, that they’d live normal happy lives with no problems unlike you and me and our family. So he didn’t. He just retrieved more food from the vending machine until all the coins were gone. 

“Come on Sammy.” Said Dean, motioning his head towards the door, “Let’s head back.” 

* * *

  


As they stepped through the threshold of their room John raised his head from the newspaper he was scanning, the ball point pen he was holding hovered above an article that had been underlined four times. The room was thankfully dull and characterless, a clashing contrast to the kaleidoscopic orange wallpaper and geometric floor of The Rooster's Sunrise. At least here in this nondescript space free of pattern and color Dean didn't feel like he was suffocating. There was still time, of course.

“You go to Siberia for this stuff?” He asked as Dean set down his stash on the table in front of him. 

Dean laughed a little but didn’t offer an explanation. He sat on the edge of one of the beds, switching the TV on as he passed it and grabbed the remote. The silver clock on the wall pointed to 10 o'clock. They’d been driving for six hours before ending up here. It was a pit stop on the way to South Dakota his father had told them, which meant they were heading to Bobby’s. 

He eyed Sam as the younger boy searched for something in his bag. For a brief moment he spotted the blue cover of that dog-eared college guide that was already two years out of date. Dean almost choked on a Dorito as he thought Sam was about to bring it out and start brazenly reading it in front of their Dad. Thankfully though Sam wasn’t suicidal and quickly pushed it down to the bottom of his bag, out of site but sadly not out of mind. His stomach churned as he heard his own words echo in his head... 

_“We barely go to school, so if you even think that places like that will even think about letting a dumb-ass like you in, come on."_

God. The look on the kid’s face after he said that. It was wrong of course; Sammy was the furthest thing away from a dumb-ass. Maybe he was projecting, predicting what John would say to Sam- or more likely to Dean himself, if he ever brought college up like it was a viable plan. After all, it was easy to shoot down people's dreams in order to keep them where you wanted them and this was a pre-emptive strike. Why was he growing up so fast? Just two years ago Sam was talking to an imaginary friend, now he was looking for a college education. 

He tried to push the whole situation away but in the absence of it Dean’s mind tried to wander back to the cannery. So, in an effort to block everything out, he focused all his attention on the TV. The young hunter leaned in closer, glaring at the images so intensely in order to burn away any thoughts or flashes of the nest that might escape through. 

“Dean!” Barked his father as a large hand landed on his shoulder. The teenager looked up to see John staring at him, “I called you twice just now, why the hell are you sitting this close to the TV?” 

Dean glanced back to the screen, an infomercial for some brand new lawnmower was currently showing. 

“It’s interesting stuff.” He joked lamely. 

“Uh-huh.” John looked entirely unconvinced. 

Dean shuffled around to check on Sam. He was already asleep in his bed and Dean was willing to bet John thought he should be the same. 

“Looks like all the excitement knocked Sammy out then.” Observed Dean. 

John regarded him with suspicion, “Excitement?” 

“Erm yeah, just the journey and all that.” Dean looked down at his hands. He knew what was coming. Questions. Questions about what had happened in Wadsworth and if he’d done his job. 

His father sighed heavily, “Look Dean, about this hunt-” 

"I took care of it." 

John’s eyebrows raised at the aptness of his son’s reply, "So it's dead?" 

"Yes sir." 

"And you're sure?” John pressed, “No lose ends?" 

Dean closed his eyes. Saw mottled fingers drop to the floor and heard screams as he plunged his hunting knife into a heaving torso. 

"No sir." He said with as much conviction as he could muster. 

"Huh.” The hunter stared Dean down for a few moments before wiping a weary hand over his face, “Bobby's going to keep an ear to the ground just in case any disappearances come down the wire. For now I guess you did good." 

Dean nodded slightly but didn’t thank his father for the tentative praise. He got up on unsure feet headed towards the dull light of the bathroom to get ready for bed. 

“But Dean...” Came John’s voice as Dean reached the doorway. The teenager turned slightly, the yellow glow illuminating half of his face. “It’s your mess to clean up if it’s not fixed.” 

Another responsibility placed on his already aching back. His feet dragged on the floor from the heavy burden. And now Sammy had added a 400-page college guide on his back too, weighing him down further. He knew it was his brother’s escape plan. Dean didn’t have any escape plans of his own and he desperately wanted to tear Sam’s up and scatter it to the winds. 

He let the water run for a minute down the cracked enamel sink before cupping it in his arms and splashing his face. Dean stared into the mirror above the sink and confronted his reflection. He’d just defeated some kind of witch and defended his brother and his friends from a deadly threat. On paper, he was a hero. But in reality, his reflection was just a scared little boy. Is this how heroes are meant to feel? Hollowed out and terrified, racked with doubt over whether the monsters they'd slain were truly gone? Wondering if they’d failed? He could ask Dad, but in doing so he’d only be placing doubt upon himself and his abilities. 

He had to be strong, because they depended on him. He had to watch out for Sammy, he had to have his Dad’s back. It was his job to rid the earth of monsters because if he didn’t then they’d come back, and they’d feed and they’d be more corpses in that nest... 

Dean slammed his hands down hard against the sink and tried to push away his thoughts. How was he going to make it through the night? The door was open a crack and he could see his father retrieving a bottle from his duffel. Dean suddenly remembered that John had been on his own hunt and had most likely seen some horrors too. Would he be willing to trade war stories and share the whiskey with his 13-year-old son? Dean didn’t know where the line was drawn, could he kill a monster but not drink away what he’d seen? Even his Dad had that luxury. 

* * *

  


_He was walking through the cold corridors of the abandoned factory, both the ground and the steel structures around him were covered in thick spiderwebs that coated his feet as he walked forward. Dean looked behind him, searching for Caitlin, but he was alone._

__

__

_The flashlight in his hand flickered._

__

__

_He reached an open doorway and he felt his stomach drop. Dean didn’t want to enter, but his feet walked on through the spiderwebs that were now so thick it was like wading through spun cotton._

__

__

_He knew what he was about to see and suddenly the large pile covered with cloth was there at his feet. A motel key, a baseball hat embodied with a large W, a catchers mitt... They all peered out from beneath the fabric. But Dean spotted something new, something he hadn’t seen last time._

__

__

_It was a blue book. The Students Guide to American Higher Learning Institutions._

__

__

_“Sammy!” He yelled as he dove forwards. He moved the rags to reveal the bodies hidden beneath it. Spiders crawled over the unseeing eyes of the missing children. Dean pulled at their lifeless bodies, frantically moving them aside in search of Sam. His hands clawed at the souvenirs and children the witch had taken to make her hideous nest until finally he found his brother at the bottom of the heap._

__

__

_“No, Sam no.” He cried as he looked at the pale corpse. Long dead and long gone._

__

__

_A rattling breath came from his brother’s throat and out crawled a black spider from his mouth._

__

__

_“You failed Dean.”_

Dean practically propelled himself upwards and stifled down a loud yell that would surely wake both his brother and his father. He was panting heavily and he could feel sweat plastering his t-shirt to his back. Quickly, he turned to the bed beside him to check if Sam was still there- _alive_. The kid was thankfully sleeping soundly and Dean felt his heartbeat a little slower. He had to resist the urge to go over there and check his breathing just to make sure he was still with him. Even now he was awake he could still hear his gurgling death-like voice, he could see the spider appear from between his purple lips. 

Dean clenched his fists and turned away. He searched for his father who he found slumped over at the table. John’s head was resting on top of the soft leather of his journal, a poor substitute for a real pillow. The hunters' fingertips were just inches away from a half empty whiskey bottle and the crack in the curtains allowed the light from the parking lot to illuminate it like an amber lamp. 

The 13-year-old stared at it as though it was forbidden fruit. The bottle promised him comfort and a way to drown out the nightmares. He’d seen what it had done for his father, he could see it right now in front of his own two eyes. John Winchester, passed out as he so often was, free from all the pain and guilt and death that hunting provided him with. 

Dean wanted that, more than anything. He didn’t want to hear Sam’s dead voice telling him he’d failed. He never wanted to see those bodies and that nest again. He knew he would. But tonight at least, something could help block it out. 

He carefully pulled back the sheets and made his way over to the table where John was sleeping. Dean held his breath with every step and his heart began to race painfully in his chest again. He was almost there, he stood opposite his sleeping father and slowly reached out for the whiskey bottle between them. 

At that exact moment Sam decided to turn in his sleep, which drew Dean’s eye away from the bottle and towards his brother. When Sam stilled, his back now facing Dean, the 13-year-old let out a small breath and turned back around. 

He was confronted with the sight of his father, awake and looking right at him. 

“Dad.” Dean croaked. His hand was still outstretched, just hovering around the neck of the bottle. 

“What are you doing?” John murmured in a slow drawl. 

“Just- Just clearing up.” Lied Dean. 

John's dark eyes took in Dean’s wide-eyed expression, then travelled to his damp t-shirt, then finally stared at the hand that hovered around the whiskey bottle. 

A calloused hand reached out, almost brushed Dean’s, and dragged the alcohol away. 

Dean watched as John poured two fingers of whiskey into a glass that had been dangerously close to falling off the edge. 

“That bad huh?” The hunter asked as he raised the glass, but instead of bringing it to his mouth and choking down what was inside, his hand moved over the table. 

Dean looked down at the glass. John was handing the drink to him like it was his own personal communion. The older man knew he was passing his son a poisoned chalice and yet he did it anyway. 

“Take it.” Said John, his words slurring slightly at the edges, “I still have the bottle.” 

At his father’s orders Dean took the glass and returned back to his bed like he’d just been given a glass of milk. He sat on the hard mattress for a moment and stared straight ahead at the clock on the wall. Its hands were pointing to 3 and 10. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his father take a swig from the bottle before setting his head back on the table, returning to his whiskey soaked slumber.

Looking down into the glass he could see a warped reflection of himself in the gold liquid and asked himself again, _is this how heroes feel?_

If it was then he didn’t want to feel it. 

He tipped the drink into his mouth and it burned like fire. Holding back the urge to spit the whiskey out, Dean screwed up his eyes and concentrated on not throwing up. The burning sharpness stayed with him, warming his insides up, as he hissed harshly and glared at the now empty glass. 

It was gone. He once again looked over at John but he wasn’t sure what for. Approval maybe? A nod of acceptance at the rite of passage he granted him just 10 days before he turned fourteen? 

But John looked exactly the same as he had when Dean had awoken from his nightmare, his fingertips still guarding the whiskey bottle like a sleeping giant. 

If it hadn’t been for the burning of Dean’s chest, the cold glass in his hand, the taste of alcohol on his breath or the growing weight of his head, then he might have thought that this had all been part of the dream too.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was bound to happen, flashback episodes give me all the ammunition I need to dive right into depressing a pre-series story featuring a traumatized Dean (Title comes from the song Africa by Toto)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and stay safe out there!


End file.
